


No-One Asks the City

by eatthepen



Category: Neon Genesis Evangelion
Genre: Other, Violent Sex, ambiguous consent, anthropomorfic - Freeform, cityfucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:40:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26012761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eatthepen/pseuds/eatthepen
Summary: It's basically episode 6 of the original series, retold from the perspective of the Geofront.
Relationships: Ramiel/Geofront (Evangelion)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	No-One Asks the City

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so serious stuff before you read: I did my best but in this scenario consent is ambiguous on the part of both Ramiel and the Geofront and I think it's really important that I flag that up. Also you probably know the episode and, like, Ramiel is gonna die at the end, I don't thiiiiink that counts as major character death but I'm not sure exactly what the scope of that tag is so go in warned.

I sense your approach when they do, in the rush of panicked signals they send racing through my nervous system. Unlike them, I do not ever get to forget that my body is a vessel for other bodies. Your movement is a slow-rising pressure, a buzz that becomes a hum as they make preparations, gather weapons, torment one another with fears.

I am retracted into myself, folded away for their protection, left exposed, alone, on the surface. This is how I first see you – and I do see you, vision is among my senses, they have given me countless thousands of cameras. I see you through a compound lens miles across, and as you drift into place above me I see you from all angles, a complete inverted panorama.

If I had the kind of control over my breathing that allowed for this, you would take my breath away.

You are a jewel cut out of the sky, an underlying, fundamental geometry, obscene with puritanical precision. You shine, so that I see purple reflections of myself in you, fragmented by the plurality of angles that make up my perspective. You are pristine, and my image shatters at your surface, and I long to shatter with it.

Let those who built me, and who live in me, and who expect me to protect them, be damned. This defiance is the only agency permitted me, because _they_ cannot imagine it. Strike me, smash me, melt me; what will your attack be?

When I see the slim shaft emerge from your lowest point, I shiver. It is a fresh wave of their fear, orders and alerts and letters to distant loved ones, but I relish it. The shaft declares its own purpose by its form, from the low conical point to the spiral, serrated ridge that ascends its sides. It begins to turn even before it touches me, and as it approaches, for the first time, I hear the sound of you, the growl of its motion.

They will not let you do this, I know. Not for long. Not for long enough. Already I feel their plans, their comings and goings. I have no means to scream a warning. And would I, if I could? Then you might leave.

Your drill strikes me at the exact centre of my symmetries. In that, at least, I get to match your shining example. You are impassive as I begin to tremble, as you begin to grind into me.

You are slow, so slow that I ache in ways I lack nerves for. The teeth of your drill drag against my concrete skin, flooding my centre with heat. Thermodynamically, the heat should not spread, but it does; along my veins fluids begin to steam and churn. My body resonates with the pace of your shaft, throbbing as its ridges saw against my steel bones.

I lubricate, heat and fluid where you penetrate me mixing to liquify my concrete flesh. And, in a dozen places where _their_ infrastructure is not quite as sound as it should be, I gasp, venting gas from torn ducts and pierced tanks. As I shake and crumble and fail, I exist for you, not them.

It grows dark, and I know our time – your time – nears its end, and I wish I could know your heart. _They_ are gathering on the mountain, a new fleet of new vehicles to replace those your predecessors obliterated, trying new things. My distributed sensorium knows these things, but as you drive deeper, hotter, harder, I feel them less and you more. I become one in this experience, the one time I will ever feel anything that could be called pain.

Pain; I fill with it, and it is mine. Not some repurposed need or waste of theirs. Not anything _they_ can touch, or use, or know. In this moment, twisting and writhing beneath you, I _am_.

I feel the surge of their power, rushing through me and out to their weapon, on their mountain. It is their attack, and for a second I fear for you, and I am hollow with the need to scream. You give no sign of reaction, constant in your drive to pierce me. Light, blinding and impossible, arcs across the sky and you lash out in response. I am dazzled from every angle at once. Space bends above me as it blazes, and now I burn under the pillar of flame that rises about you. The heat inside me swells, obliterating with bliss.

My back is an arch, I cannot arch it but it is arched for you as you burst through into me. I am fire, I am the pulsing rhythm of your penetration, I am the raging torrent, I await your answer.

For a moment it comes as you fire again, and your beam ignites the horizon, the sky, beyond, but no, this time it is different, one of them stands against you, splashing your discharge across the mountains, impotent, too distant for me to feel.

Their shot comes.

You die in me, and already I am dying back into myself, cooling as my awareness fractures again, diffuses along deadened cables, falling back to parts that only now can I recognise were never a whole. I will never again be as I was with you.

But I will remember.

**Author's Note:**

> Less serious stuff: NOT EVEN GOD AND ALL HIS ANGELS CAN JUDGE ME
> 
> (please don't think I only did this as a joke, or just to wind up [torches](https://archiveofourown.org/users/torches))


End file.
